


Parting Company

by brightwhiteparabolas



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Coming Out, Death, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson is Robin, Gen, Growing Up, High School, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd is Robin, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Pining, Post-High School, References to Drugs, Suggestive Themes, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightwhiteparabolas/pseuds/brightwhiteparabolas
Summary: Jason Todd and Richard Grayson are grappling with the Robin role, each in his own way.  As Jason struggles to learn the self-restraint that Bruce demands of him, Richard wants to distance himself from the outsize shadow of the Bat.  Some growing pains entrench themselves for life.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Roman Sionis & Jason Todd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. Brothers in Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This is a growing up story. It's also a Dick Grayson - Jason Todd parallel story, although the plot is mainly driven from Jay's side. Richard is in an introspective, self-doubting moment.
> 
> There are nine chapters. The first six chapters will post in pairs about weekly, with one Jason and one Richard POV chapter in each pair. As the story wraps up, I'll post single chapters. That's the plan, at any rate. As usual, the whole piece is more or less done before I start posting, but I'm trying to get less obsessive about edits and re-writes that stop me moving on. If it's not good, I'll try to do better next time, I tell myself. (At least, I hope Dickens said something like that when he threw his monthly Pickwick submissions over the wall to meet the Chapman & Hall deadlines. It would make me feel good if I knew he said that for sure.)
> 
> This is categorized as teens and up, because while some strong themes are hinted at, there is nothing over-explicit. Warnings for retcons, OCs, and other canonically-unacceptable stuff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is naive and headstrong enough to sell his meds at school.

Bruce Wayne’s eyes were hard. He held a small, transparent plastic bag in his hand that contained several orange and white capsules. They had no distinguishing marks besides the tiny printed letters on their sides that identified them as a well-known blockbuster drug.

“Have you seen these before, Jay?”

Jason Todd was sitting on a straight-backed chair in front of Bruce’s desk, legs splayed open and one arm resting on his knee. His pose and the cut of his dark red hair was at odds with the formality of the small study and the bearing of his mentor, who had deliberately chosen to speak to him in there. The Batcave held too many distractions as well as tensions and rivalries that Bruce preferred to keep out of the conversation.

Jason laughed and shifted inside his leather jacket.

“It’s Adderall, Bruce,” he said.

“It’s your Adderall.”

“Got a DNA test to prove the little dudes are mine?”

Bruce’s blue-grey eyes narrowed, and his fist came down on the desk.

“Why, for God’s sake, Jay, are you selling your medication?”

Jason folded his arms across his chest and stared back at Bruce.

“I hate asking you for cash all the time.”

“It’s called dealing, Jay. Selling pills at school. And after all the effort you made to get into a good one. You want to get thrown out or hook kids on speed?”

“I don't deal, and Adderall isn’t speed. The Sionis boys deal.”

“Selling is dealing, and Adderall is a legalized form of methamphetamine. Less methyl, and that’s pretty much it.”

“Roman Sionis told me that Adderall - “

“You might not want to believe everything that the Sionis boys tell you. And ADHD is serious. It’s not the end of the road for a Robin, but it’s serious. You were prescribed those meds for a reason, and you need to take them.”

Jason stood up. He’s grown, Bruce thought. Not a man yet, but not a child either. His hair had faded to auburn and his limbs had broadened and lengthened. He would be much bulkier than Richard Grayson and more powerful when he reached his full height, if less quick and athletic. But the challenge wouldn’t be his reflexes. It was his impulsivity and the anger that always ran beneath it . 

There was at least a diagnosis now besides his personal history as to why he was so bright, so funny, and so creative but often struggled with detailed tasks and occasionally exploded over them. He was the darling and the despair of some of his new teachers, but there was no doubt that medication and therapy had made a difference, much as Jason hated to admit it.

Jay was a work in progress and they had to keep on working. Rage sets in early, as he knew from his own experiences, and takes a lifetime to manage.

He felt something catch in his throat as Jason pushed his hair back with one hand. 

“Fucking Tim found out about the Addies, didn’t he? Don’t tell me.”

Bruce ignored the question and the profanity. Instead, he also stood up and looked across his beautifully-preserved Revolution era desk at Jason. As well as business dress, he had the advantage over Jason of at least four inches in height.

“You have so much going for you, Jay,” he said. “You’re strong and you’re brave. You come up with ideas that no-one else would. You could be a great Robin. But you let your anger get the better of you because you’re not in control. It’s something else that’s running you. And sometimes you just don’t listen. ” 

He paused and shook his head. “You know what our deal is. You need to stick to it. Take your meds.”

He paused again.

“And give your homework in on time.”

\- - - - 

The smaller boy was sitting waiting on what should have been his bed, except that he hadn’t been clean so he couldn’t stay in the house. The piss test that Alfred had administered yesterday hadn’t come back clean. Fucking weed. How many days did it take to pass out of someone’s system? He should ask Anton Sionis, although Bruce had implied that the Sionis boys didn’t know as much as they claimed, and it wasn’t like Bruce to be wrong about something like that.

He didn’t want to sleep at Wayne Manor every night anyway. There were too many rules, and there was perfect Richard Grayson and when he wasn’t with his own parents there was Tim Drake too, who was getting more like a nagging, nerdy mini-Bruce every day, and right now he was in no mood to deal with either of them.

Thank God for Damian, who was also fucked up but in a different way. They used to fight each other all the time after Damian first appeared, but that was before Jason realized that Damian was okay beneath his standoffish, entitled facade. Besides, the kid knew a trick or two in a fight. The great thing was that everyone overlooked him because he was so tiny. Tiny and as mean as hell, thought Jason. Like a mosquito with a micro-millimeter sting that gives you malaria for five weeks at a time.

Damian blinked as Jason flung his rucksack on the floor, and turned his head.

“Jay,” he said. “Jay. You are not listening.”

“I am listening.”

“Mother sent her regards. She is very fond of you.” Damian sniffed. “For whatever reason.”

Jason grinned and shook his head.

“Because I’m way smarter and better-looking than Richard. No comparison.”

Damian rolled his eyes. He idolized Richard Grayson, and would not have admitted it under the severest forms of torture.

Jason sat down on the bed next to Damian and put an arm around his shoulders. The kid just didn’t seem to grow, although Bruce wasn’t worried about it and Damian himself always behaved as though he were six foot four and built like a silver-back gorilla.

“I can’t stay for movie night, titch,” he said. “I’m kind of in trouble.”

Damian nodded and looked wise. He knew better than to ask. He pushed himself back further onto the bed and away from Jason so that his back was almost against the white-painted wall. It was an austere room, almost devoid of color besides a set of blue curtains that matched the bedspread on which Damian sat.There was a large black cutout of a bat fixed above the desk in one corner. Someone, not Jason, had given the bat a little smiley cat-face in white chalk.

“I’m in trouble too,” Damian said. “I hid a shuriken in a shoe box and forgot all about it. Alfred said that one of his staff could have been injured.And also” - he imitated Alfred’s accent - “may I remind you again, Master Damian, that Japanese throwing stars are illegal in the state of New Jersey.”

“That’s at least the second time.”

Damian ignored him and tucked one leg under himself, angling the other one over his neck. That weird yogabatics stuff comes from Richard, thought Jason. Give me boxing any time, like Bruce.

“Come out with me later,” he said. “I’m working on something that could be a case. Something fun. Maybe dangerous.”

The green eyes held a skeptical look, but Jason could tell that Damian was trying to hide his excitement. Most of the action he saw these days was with Clark Kent's kid, which meant that it was somewhat limited in scope.

“Does Father know about it?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell him if it becomes serious. Right now, it’s just a good, strong hunch.”

The younger boy’s face broke into a smile, showing a chipped front tooth.

“Then after I finish working on the Batmobiles with Richard.”


	2. Grayson's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard's plans do not make everyone happy.

In his heart, Bruce had always known it would come to something this. He had anticipated a feeling of resignation, of knowing that Richard would reach his own decisions, and that for selfish reasons those decisions would not be the ones he would have chosen for him. But when the moment came, it was nothing like he had expected.

You can take a boy out of the circus, Richard liked to say, but you can’t take the circus out of the boy.

As a ward, Richard was wonderful as well as maddening. He was academically gifted, but would rather twist himself into complicated physical puzzles using the anchor points that he had fixed in the ceiling of his room following several days of diagramming and self-debate. A corner of the room was a permanent mess of ropes, chains, and lengths of fabric, better organized than they would appear to be at first sight and than most of Richard’s things were. Good rope, as Richard also liked to say, was not cheap and needed to be tended with care.

(“That suspension equipment of Master Richard’s is very suggestive, Sir,” Alfred once commented.

“I’m sure he’s fully aware of it,” was Bruce’s dry response.)

If you invited him to a corporate event - which Bruce had done a couple of times, almost as a test - his intelligence helped him play the part of an attentive listener convincingly. The fact that he passed for Bruce’s son, with his blue-grey eyes and dark hair, was especially useful with Japanese investors, who were also charmed by his halting command of their language.But Richard, who was something of a lightweight when it came to alcohol, found the corporate world ridiculous, and Lucius Fox had sniffed that one out like a dachshund exposing a badger in a paper bag.

His way with people was remarkable, thought Bruce.He connected because he wanted to connect, because he liked people, and that was probably the quality that Bruce most admired in him as well as how sharply he observed the details around him without seeming to do so.He had to smile as he watched Richard work his way across the restaurant to the table where he sat waiting for him.

It was two o’clock in the middle of the week, and despite the place’s Michelin star, lunchtime traffic was light. Bruce had made sure that no-one would occupy the tables immediately around them. He had wanted to talk outside Wayne Manor, and Bistro 770 was as good a place as any.

“I’m not going to force you to go to Princeton,” he said once the food had started to arrive.

“I wasn’t going to defer again.”

“You could if you wanted to. You’re effectively a legacy. As safe as any Wayne would be with your SAT scores.”

The memory of what he had gotten away with at Princeton flickered through his mind, and he pushed it away again.

“I don’t want to defer again. I’m moving to Bludhaven.”

There was little Bruce could say in response to the small bomb that Richard had dropped. He re-arranged his white napkin on his lap.

“I see,” he said.

The small, delightful restaurant buzzed around them. They could have been in Paris, except for the American voices and the green Gotham City street signs that were visible outside from where they were sitting. A small bird flew onto the railings of the park opposite and perched there, watching Bruce.

Bruce waited, like the bird, and drank his sparkling water. Such a striking boy, he thought. It wasn’t even his features or his coloring or the candor of his eyes. Every move of his was vivid, and Bruce could hardly take much credit for that. The Flying Graysons were still a legend in the world of circus arts.

Richard said: “They’ve accepted me at the Bludhaven Police Academy. I’d start in September, if you’re okay with that.”

He looked embarrassed.

“Blue-collar, you’re probably thinking,” he said. “But it’s the right thing for me. I’m not cut out for university.”

Richard laughed, but his voice was uneven. If Bruce hadn’t known him so well, he would say that he was running scared, but there was something much more complex going on here.

“Mom and Dad always wondered if we were Romani from somewhere back,” he said. “Who knows.But I hate the idea of being settled in a university town or at a desk.High school’s been tough enough to sit through.I did it because I didn’t want to let you down, and I thought that maybe things would change.I’ll be a good fit for the police, I think.”

Bruce decided to say nothing. He knew that Richard hated his long silences in social situations. The best way to get him to say more would be to keep his own mouth shut.He poured himself more Acqua Panna with no expression on his face and continued to watch the bird, who had now been joined by two others.They hopped up and down on the railing, pumping their small wings as if they were furious.

Richard speared something onto his fork with a frantic expression on his face. Here it comes, thought Bruce.

“It’s not that you keep me back,” he finally said. “You don’t, of course.You’re always helping me improve.But you’re so good at what you do that I can’t be myself around you. Does that make any sense?”

“No,” said Bruce. He picked up a piece of bread and began to spread butter on it.

Richard put both his hands on the table and pushed his fingers apart.His voice was very low, but every word was distinct.

“Alright, Bruce.I’m not you.I’ll never be a Batman like you, and the thought of being Batman in your place some day scares the shit out of me. I need to go away and do something else.I need to fight on my own and in my own way, and maybe with different partners.I’d still come back sometimes.If you want me to.But I need space. I don’t think I should go on being Robin too much longer, and I’m not sure I can ever be the Batman. It’s … too much to live up to after the way you’ve done it.”

The flow of words stopped, and Richard’s grip on the table relaxed.

“Does that make sense now?”

“Maybe.”Bruce placed the buttered piece of bread in his mouth.

“Are you angry?”

“I’m glad you were direct with me.”

Richard’s eyes looked as though they were about to fill with tears. He’s always been more emotional than me, thought Bruce. It’s his own feelings that are making this difficult for him, maybe more than any reaction he anticipates from me.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said. “I know it’s not what you wanted. I realized that I couldn’t be what you expected me to be. But I thought it would be better to say it now than to keep it for later.”

He smiled his disarming smile.

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Months.”

Bruce shrugged.

“I suppose the Gotham Police Academy wouldn’t work.No, of course not.You can’t work for Jim Gordon here in the city.”

Richard was more confident now.

“That’s not the point,” he said.“It’s not even about the police.The point is to leave Gotham.It’s something that I need to do for now.”

Bruce continued to eat his bread.Then he asked:“Is it really that bad working for me?”

Richard’s eyes became shiny, and Bruce saw him swallow.

After a moment, he said: “You know it’s not.You should never say that.”

A waiter came to take some plates away and replace the bottle of water with a new one.

“Practical question,” said Bruce. “What are we going to do about the Robin role?”

“Oh, I’m not going to go until that one's figured out,” said Richard. He was pleased to move onto less sensitive ground, and started to pay attention to the fish on his plate. “Don’t worry about it. But I’ve been thinking. You should promote Jason to first string.”

“Jason?”

“I know. But I wonder if it works the opposite way. If you give him the responsibility, he’ll rise to the challenge. If you don’t, it could get worse.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Before I forget.” Richard reached for the bread basket and removed two rolls. The boy probably hasn’t eaten all morning in anticipation of this conversation, Bruce realized.

“Clark Kent gave me an idea for a new fighting name. Nightwing. It’s a type of Kryptonian dragon. What do you think?”

\- - - - 

Bruce insisted that all of them had more than a passing knowledge of the Batmobiles. Richard, who was better with his hands than he was with numbers, could take a problem beneath one of the huge, gleaming machines and emerge several hours later serene and covered with grease, having left whatever was bothering him behind. Damian, who despised mechanical skills, was picking them up despite himself. Whatever the differences in his and Richard’s views on the subject, their working sessions together were always an opportunity for long, comfortable silences punctuated by the occasional confidence.

That evening, Damian sat back on his haunches, not even pretending to be interested as Richard tested a front wheel valve for leaks.

“Father says you’re going to Bludhaven at the end of the summer.”

“Most likely yes.”

Richard made a mental note to talk to Bruce about letting him break his own news while Damian shifted his position and glared.

“Why?”

“Because I need to do my own thing now.” His voice was gentle as he dropped a new valve cap into place as a precaution. “I’m not your father, and I’m never going to be.” He reached over to rough up Damian’s hair, feeling him stiffen. “I’m much weirder than Bruce is. You know that, right?”

Damian glared more furiously.

“Stop trying to be funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. It’s true.”

“You would be a great Batman. You could be my Batman.”

“But maybe I don’t want to be any kind of Batman, Dami.” His voice grew even softer. “I can’t do what your father does. I don’t even want to think about it.” He paused. “Actually, I do think about it sometimes and it makes me sick. It’s too much to live up to.”

“I say you can do it.”

Richard shook his head.

“No. Not yet. Maybe never.”

“Coward.”

“No. I’m carving out my own path. Don’t be unfair, Damian.”

“You’re the one who’s being unfair. You’re being selfish and running away. You’re a coward.”

Richard shook his head again. This was bad, maybe worse than he had expected.

“I’ll be back,” he offered. “I’ll be back often. You know me. I never like staying anywhere for too long.”

“No,” Damian flung back at him. “You never like staying with anyone for too long. Always moving on. Will you also have another family in Bludhaven?”

There was nothing sensible to say to that, so Richard said nothing. It was lucky, he thought, that he didn’t have Jason’s temper or Tim’s sharp tongue, or Damian might have earned himself a much more painful response.

“I know this is hard, Damian,” he started. He was too kind to want to refer directly to the boy’s insecurities or the shocking way in which he defended his few close relationships.

“It is not hard,” said Damian. “It is only stupid. And Father should not allow it.”

He let the tools that he was holding clatter to the floor and walked to the front of the Batcave, a small, upright figure, turning his face once to show any observer, Richard thought, that his eyes were dry. For the first time since he had spoken to Bruce, Richard let his face sink into his hands and his shoulders slump.

When Alfred came upstairs in the morning, Damian was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my friend F, who is not on here. They have done all sorts of awesome aerial acrobatics since they were that high, a bit like a real-life Flying Grayson, and they are very good with ropey things.
> 
> if you’re an aerialist, rope is apparently second nature. That fact, and F’s comments about so many circus folk being kinky made me realize, duh, of course Richard is into bondage. For now, it’s only self-suspension, but it still makes Alfred’s eyes water sometimes on the Wayne Manor closed-circuit video. Stop watching, Alfred. Now.


	3. The Blonde in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sionis boys introduce Jason to a friend whom he hates on sight.

Jason Todd actually liked his new high school. It was still a public school, which he and Bruce had agreed on, but what they called a magnet school, one that bussed in high-performing kids from all over Gotham City, and its academic rankings, as Jay liked to remind Damian, were on par with West-Reeve or any other fancy private institution. 

(“Respect, titch. Because that’s where you’ll be if Lex Luthor ever takes over your trust fund. If you’re lucky enough to get in.”)

That didn’t mean he loved it. Some days it seemed like its corridors were only full of kids from good zip codes, the kind of kids who went to improv classes in the evening and had quinoa salad for lunch, and he didn’t want to be there. He wondered how many of them had slept on cardboard or stolen car parts to get by, and his stomach started to hurt.

But he liked the Sionis boys almost despite himself. They came from a rich family, too rich and too absorbed in their Greek Orthodox religion, their love affairs and their huge, failing cosmetics empire to pay much attention to their two younger sons. The Sionis boys did much worse things than he did, and they were very friendly. He found both of those facts comforting. Like him, they were smart, funny, and charismatic, and to that, they added the advantage of having all the weed that Jason ever wanted.

On sunny days, he sat outside with Roman Sionis, their backs to the school cafeteria’s warm brick wall, and they did their homework together and talked shit. They made a good pair. Jason couldn’t spell and sometimes couldn’t concentrate, and Roman hated math. There was another kid, Li, an annoying little nerd, smart as hell and with no conscience, who sometimes joined them and tried to look up the skirts of any girls who walked past them.

The Sionis boys looked almost identical to each other, with smooth falls of longish dark hair and narrow eyes. Anton, who was seventeen and two years older than Roman, was quieter than his brother and more calculating with a small brown scar under one eyebrow. They were both good-looking boys, and they knew it.

Their friend, Eivar, was in an entirely different league. He was the blondest person Jason had ever seen and he wore a corduroy jacket with holes in the sleeves. No-one at high school wore a corduroy jacket, and Jason hated him on sight. He was obviously not American.

He laughed and waved a hand, maybe because Jason was staring at him.

“No, I do not buy weed,” he said in his strange, lilting voice to Jason. His English was perfect. “I just like to hang around these little guys.”

He put one arm around Roman and one arm around Anton, who was slightly taller. He was taller and thinner than Anton, who was neither short nor heavyset. He was almost as long and thin, thought Jason, as some of the ropes that Richard Grayson kept hanging permanently from his bedroom ceiling.

“So you grew up on the street,” he said. “So weird and so interesting.” He laughed again, and Jason wanted to kick him in the balls of his distressed designer jeans. “What was that like?”

“Where did you grow up?” Jason asked him. “In fucking Ikea?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jason,” said Roman, narrowing his narrow eyes at him even further.

“Fuck you, Roman.”

So Jason, instead of hitting either of them, spun on his heel and walked away. He did Bruce proud, he told himself when he got to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his head.

Eivar whose-last-name-was-unpronounceable could be annoying, Roman told him when he apologized before class, but he was a useful person to know. He had diplomatic immunity. He’d only been in Gotham about three months, his father was some kind of ambassador, and so he had to pay tuition. He wasn’t from Ikea, Roman said, but yes, he was from one of those Scandinavian countries where everyone has free healthcare and lives happily ever after. And he was a lot smarter than he seemed. Much, much smarter.

Jason decided to tail him after school anyway. He felt better after Roman’s apology, but he still felt mean.

“And that was how I saw him down at the docks,” he had explained to Damian, who arrived at Jason's place shortly before midnight, carrying a large duffel bag that contained more equipment than clothes and asking whether he could stay for a few days.

Something was eating Damian beneath that uppity little face of his, Jason thought, and it was better not to ask for now. They sat on the bed and talked while Damian swung his legs.

“The guy is doing something off. He sat in a coffee shop and worked on his computer for a few hours. Then he went down to the docks after dark. He has some kind of gig there, and it looks like trafficking.”

Damian was a practical boy who was used to the wild flights of Jason's imagination. He shrugged inside the black Gotham Knights sweatshirt that he had turned inside out to hide its white logo in the dark.

“Maybe he just likes to see the ships,” he said. “He is from some weird Viking country, right?”

“He’s not from one of those big ship-owning families, if that’s what you mean. I checked on their details and even looked up some of the crew and longshoremen he talked to. No connections I could find. And access to the docks is supposed to be restricted.”

They were now lying, faces down, on the top of a disused container in a yard bordering the fence that divided the Gotham Port Authority from empty, trash-filled land strewn with weeds and twisted metal. Jason wore a utility belt and there was a pair of night vision binoculars around his neck.

It was a cool fall night, but not too cold. The boys inched forward on their stomachs, andJason felt the metal of the container bite through the fabric of his thin black top. He held his binoculars out to Damian, who waved them back at him. He had his own in a sealed interior pocket.

The Port of Gotham never stopped. Moving an estimated three times more in volume and twice the value of New York’s Port Authority, it dominated the East Coast's maritime operations.Its unions held the retail and manufacturing supply chains of the tri-state areaand beyond hostage to its demands, and were among the most powerful and corrupt in the United States.Jason had some knowledge of this from Bruce’s dinner conversations with Jim Gordon, Gotham’s Commissioner of Police, but his grasp of the details was limited. He also knew that the docks were rumored to have been infiltrated by Bane’s gangs, with the Joker moving money offshore for them through an elaborate network of shell companies and shadow bank accounts.

He watched Damian looking at the immense yellow gantry cranes straddling the ships and sinking down into them, rising again with huge containers that they deposited onto waiting trucks. Men moved around, climbing in and out of vehicles and talking to each other.There was another rumor, Jason remembered Gordon saying, that one of the unions had a ban on women members.

"Why is this not all automated?" Damian asked him, wrinkling his nose.

"Unions, titch. And Jim Gordon thinks Bane's getting a cut.”

"Why?"

"He's keeping automation out because of who he can threaten. And using the unions to keep the drugs and weapons coming in wherever he can." 

Damian didn't reply. He moved further forward, and folded his arms under his chin to make himself more comfortable. They could be in for a long wait here.

Jason moved to a kneeling position to see further out over the huge, bustling yard. No-one would be looking up here, and even if they did, it was unlikely that they would see anything. They both wore dark clothes and Jason's black woolly hat was pulled down over his forehead. He hadn't wanted to start dying it again yet, at least not until Bruce asked him to. He could see several silver-grey Wayne Industries containers lined up next to other, replicas of the tiny remote-operated model on the desk in Bruce's study. They were distinguished from the others by their position in the yard, yellow test stickers, and the large white 'W' stamped on their sides. Jason was surprised to see them there at all. His eyes swept from one end of the yard to the other, knowing exactly what he was looking for, and then he saw it. He nudged Damian.

His whistle was short and low. "Here he comes," he said.“The blonde in the dark.”

He nudged Damian, and repointed the smaller boy’s binoculars.

This time, the container was driven to a different part of the yard altogether. A tall, thin boy walked over to the back of the truck and another, shorter figure ran over and began to unlock the container.About a minute later, he slid the first of its locking bars out of the way.Jason’s experience with Bruce and Richard had developed his nose for trouble, and he knew that what they were seeing was inconsistent with the superficially similar activities that were taking place all around it.

They’ve done this before, Jason thought, as he had thought the first and second times he had followed the older boy to the docks. A white van drew up, seemingly out of nowhere, and a forklift rolled over in its wake. A large crate was lifted out of the container and onto the ground. The boy stepped around the crate and shone a small flashlight into it before switching it off and nodding.The container was sealed again, the van drove away, and the truck was taken to a different part of the yard.

Jason removed the night-vision binoculars from his face.Without them, his target was a black dab in the bustle of the docks, the dark overcoat covering him from neck to knee. Then a strobe light from the back of the departing forklift flashed across his face and for a moment he was a vivid apparition with white, sculpted cheekbones and a Burberry scarf.

“Fucker should wear a fucking hat,” muttered Jason. “That silver hair sticks out a mile.”

Next to him, flat on his stomach on top of the disused container, Damian snorted in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My descriptions of how ports work vary from slightly to very wrong compared with the real thing, which is fascinating and complex (I have a thing for ships and cranes). Can we just pretend it all works like I say it does . . .


	4. Friends Without Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara Gordon realizes she is not FWB material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write about certain kinds of physical challenges of which I have no experience. If I messed up or offended with Barbara, I am truly sorry.

Barbara Gordon heard a knock on the door of the house that she lived in with her father and Sarah Essen Gordon in Tricorner.

“Everything’s still kind of shit at Wayne Manor and no-one can find Damian,” Richard said to her when she opened it.He had texted the day before.

“I see,” said Barbara. “So the kid’s taking you for a ride.”

Richard smiled. “You’re such a cynic, Babs.”

“He’ll turn up. After terrorizing half of Gotham, no doubt. I wouldn’t worry too much yet. Come on in. Dad and Sarah are in Metropolis for a couple of days at a police conference, so I have the place to myself.”

It had been a while since she had last seen him, and it still wasn’t easy. Friends, huh. She swung her chair around so that she had her back to him, and a conversation with Sarah suddenly came back to her in all its awful vividness.

(“It’s not you that’s the problem,” Sarah said, as she peeled cucumbers at the sink. “It’s him. Every time you say it's not his fault, you give him a pass. And you don’t believe it yourself. Do you?”

“But it’s true,” she had protested. “He’s committed to whoever he's with. It doesn't last, that's all. And being Robin doesn't help either."

“But that’s the problem. He never, ever sticks. He can't. And it’s ripping you apart to see it because you’re absolutely not like that.And you won’t admit it.”)

She shook her head to clear it, and pushed a piece of hair back behind her ear. Grounding, she thought. I need to distract myself by focusing on my surroundings. 

(Sarah’s voice again, insisting: “You need a complete break. Of course you’re not over him, Barbara.”)

Jim Gordon had never cared much about interior decoration so long as he could find what he needed, and Sarah had recently redone most of the old ground floor. Everything still smelled of fresh wood and paint. Sunlight filtered in through a large skylight in the hallway and the entrance area was filled with shelves of small plants.Barbara knew without asking that the inlaid matte tiles that covered the floor were chosen to take account of her chair.

“It looks great,” said Richard, who always noticed things that other people didn’t.He touched the light-colored paint of the wall next to him.“Neutral but not cold. Sarah’s really good at this.”

Fuck grounding skills, Barbara thought.

“Mind if I smoke?”

She moved over to one of the narrow shelves and reached behind one of the plants.Sarah suspected, she thought, but had never asked, and even if she knew would say nothing.

“What, you smoke now?”

“Very occasionally, when Dad’s not around. He doesn’t know, of course. I could get it on prescription but I don’t.” 

She shrugged, and her mouth twisted. 

“I can still feel my legs sometimes, you know. Just a twinge. But when I do, they hurt.” Her voice became slightly hoarse as she lit the small joint. “This does help. I know I shouldn’t. I could ride it out. But it does help.”

“I never said you shouldn’t.”His voice was soft.“I’m not saying anything.”

She looked at him defiantly. Part of her wished she had made the effort to put on something a bit better than this old purple T-shirt with its Gotham Knights logo and part of her wanted him to leave immediately.

“You can’t have any,” she said.

“As if. And don’t look at me like that. It’s so provocative.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

He leaned forward and gently shook the end of her ponytail. Then he gave her a light kiss, and she kissed him back much harder. Fuck Sarah and her wisdom.She stubbed out the joint between a thumb and a finger.There was only one Richard, and maybe she would die tomorrow in a new Darkseid attack. And anyway, he was leaving. And he was so worth it.

“Carry you upstairs?” he said into her ear.

————

Barbara’s white and green bedroom was one of her favorite places in the house, even after the adjustments that Sarah had helped her make so that she could still do everything for herself in there.She never did any of Bruce’s work in her bedroom, but kept most of her binders and her college laptop in a white bookshelf that also had a cupboard containing a metal safe to which only she had access.In the safe, among other things, was a sealed plastic bag with old Batgirl clothes, so torn now that they were useless.She needed that reminder near her of what she had been.

She moved her head sideways and gave Richard a little kiss just above the mouth.He was leaning on one elbow looking at her as she sat next to him on the bed with a sheet pulled up over her knees.

“I knew you’d end up going to Bludhaven or New York,” she said. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“Everyone is mad with me.”

“Well, I’m not. You’ll be fine, Richard.”

She laughed, and took a puff of her joint.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not as weird as you think you are.” She shook her head. “And I think Bruce probably knows more than you’re giving him credit for.”

“What do you mean?”

Barbara Gordon’s big blue eyes lit up and for a moment, she looked almost wicked.

“Of course you need to get away from all the Batman pressure.We’ve talked about that so many times.But do you think anyone cares so much whether you're straight or not that you have to run away? I don’t. I doubt Bruce does either. He’s just too tactful to bring it up.”

Richard turned as red as the Flash’s costume, possibly redder than he had turned in his entire life. He was not someone who blushed easily.

“I think people do care about these things,” he said. He heard himself sounding almost sulky, to his own surprise.He looked down at his own flat, hard stomach.“I think they’re fucking obsessed with them. I don’t even know if I want to talk about this with you.”

Barbara was chortling. It was hard to say whether it was the weed or the subject matter that had gone to her head so quickly.

“Have you ever dug up any shit on Bruce?” she asked. “Because I have to spend way too much time in that chair in front of a screen. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Vanilla himself. I found this old story about him in the Gayborhood during Fetish Fest and …”

“I do not want to know.”

“Alright. You go to Bludhaven and find yourself, Richard Grayson. But you have nothing to be ashamed of.Don’t feel like you have to go to Bludhaven to hide.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you do sometimes.”

“I’ll be back anyway.”

“Of course you’ll be back. They’ll need you here.Bruce will. So will the others.”

He looked up again.

“Can I see you still?”

She looked back with serious, catlike eyes and shook her head.

“No, I don’t think we should.”

The unexpected answer hurt him like a small but expert punch, something Slade might have delivered in a lazy moment, just to show that he was capable of something so much more lethal if he exerted himself. He pulled his thoughts away from the big silver-haired mercenary.

“Why not?” he had to ask her.

“Because I care too much about you still, and you see too many people.It's not good for me to be around that kind of thing.”

She looked at him again and burst out laughing.

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s me.”

But she had broken up with him, he thought, confused. What was he supposed to do?

There were tears in her eyes, and he wasn’t sure if they were all from laughing.He didn’t think that he should hug her, so he started to get dressed instead.

————

After Richard had left, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror of the pretty white and green bedroom. It had been adjusted so that she could see herself from a seated position. She looked at her long, light-colored lashes and her light-colored eyes and the fierce red hair that framed her face. 

She watched herself in the mirror as her eyes turned wet and pink.

“It’s not you,” she said to the face in the mirror.“You’re probably cute enough, and you’re smart enough.Hell, you’re smarter than he is.Bruce wouldn’t keep you on otherwise.”

Even now, she didn’t want to think about what she had done.Richard, like Sarah said, wasn't someone who could be for keeps.The chair would make him feel too guilty to do it himself, she had reasoned, and it would be better if she pre-empted it.

“It’s not you,” she said to herself again.“It’s him. It's not his fault that everybody wants him. It's really not his fault."

Then she let her chin rest on her knees and reached her arms around the long, pretty legs whose muscle tone was maintained only through a brutal regime of daily exercises that Bruce had helped her devise, and she cried for a good ten minutes.

Thank fuck he was going to Bludhaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are sad and mixed up in my stories, and I will never, ever be able to do romance or smut the way readers like. Never. Maybe in my next life I will come back as a best-selling romancey-smutperson with big hair and porcupine quill eyelashes, and my squishy-spined books will rule supermarket aisles and airport shops all over the land. Maybe.


	5. Black Eyes and Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian reports back to Jason after a day of semi-legal surveillance activities.

The black eye was worth it.

It showed how good some of Bane's men were, and it had been a most enjoyable fight. Damian had not wanted to show them what he could really do, he said. Without a mask and in daylight, it would have been idiotic. At least, that was what he told Jason when he got back in the evening, very pleased with himself and tired.

Surveillance was one of Damian's favorite forms of relaxation, and fortunately it had only been drizzling that morning. He still found Gotham City autumns unpleasant compared with the countries where he had spent his early childhood, but this was better than spending Saturday morning learning about the Batmobile's triple alternator, and Richard deserved to worry about him. He hoped that Richard would cry, at least a little bit.

He settled onto a thick branch of the tree to watch Eivar helping himself to breakfast from a buffet. There was no-one else in the room, and it was about ten o'clock. The house was a beautiful one in the Bristol district with terrible security, although very few houses, Damian reflected, had anything approaching the levels of Wayne Manor's security systems.

Really, Scandinavian people had horrible things to eat in the morning. No wonder this teenager was probably involved in criminal activity. It must be all that shiny-looking fish. Damian shuddered.

"He seems bored," he reported to Jason. "He paints and he takes pills."

"Only anti-depressants. Roman told me.”

"Maybe he is depressed because his painting is so terrible.”

"No, apparently he's incredibly good."

There was very little of interest to observe until well after mid-day, Damian told Jason, who had been in remedial English class all morning. The subject swallowed some pills after breakfast, took a shower and then engaged in what appeared to be homework-related activities and artistic pursuits. It was not possible to ascertain from a distance whether it was in fact homework or some kind of coded communication log, but Richard's lessons on wiring, he had to admit, did have their uses. The subject's bedroom had been located in the very early hours of the morning and a tiny video recorder installed behind a valance.

"But I believe it was schoolwork," Damian said. "After that, he did his painting and looked a bit happier. Then it became more interesting. He left the house and got into his car."

The subject had a very nice car, a burgundy-colored SUV with special license-plates.

"Diplomatic plates," Jason said. "He can do almost whatever he likes because of that shit."

Eivar drove fast, slamming through a couple of red lights and taking unexpected turns, and Damian had to work to keep up with him. As an eleven-year old on a motorcycle, he needed to avoid attracting attention.

The first stop that the SUV made was outside an auto collision repair shop near Newtown. The man who met him outside seemed to be expecting him, and was in his late thirties or early forties, so big that he looked like he could have picked up Eivar and broken him in half. The big man seemed nervous. The boy nodded briefly, and walked past him into a small office from where he emerged about twenty minutes later. Then he leaned against his car and took out a cigarette.

"He looks like a model for male clothing," Damian sniffed. "That strange clothing in magazines that nobody wants to wear."

"Just go on."

Eivar removed an envelope from his pocket together with a small, round silver tin. He took something out of the silver tin and put it in his mouth, and then he counted bills from the envelope. He climbed back into the burgundy SUV with the diplomatic plates to make several more stops, all of which followed a similar pattern. The second, fourth and final stops were the most interesting, Damian said.

“Got video?"

Damian rolled his eyes at the insulting question.

There had been some kind of problem at the second stop. This time, Damian was able to overhear part of a conversation by shimmying up the side of a nondescript building that housed a well-appointed boxing gym and a laundromat.

"Those guns are no good. We did a couple of dry fire drills, and some of them are failing to feed and eject properly. I'm not paying."

There was light laughter. "I am not responsible for the guns. I can tell him, that's all."

"Take some of these pieces of shit with you so he can see for himself, kid."

The street was empty and it was still drizzling. Eivar walked out of a side door, hardly bothering to hide the two machine guns that he carried beneath one arm under his beautiful black coat. He placed them in the trunk of the SUV. This time he smoked two cigarettes, and there was no envelope.

After the next stop, he drove for some way out towards Sommerset and the suburbs, and Damian began to enjoy the ride.The drizzle had lifted, and a sharp fall sun sliced through the clouds.The temperature was dropping, and they were reaching the outskirts of the city.Traffic was sparse, and Damian had to be careful.By now, Damian said, they were a few miles beyond the Archie Goodwin airport and approaching a cluster of low-lying office buildings.

“It was some kind of technology park,” he said. “The sign said Exorbitant Pharmaceuticals Gotham Main Campus.”

“Don’t you mean Orbital Pharmaceuticals? They might be somewhere out there.”

“Maybe.”

Eivar pulled up in front of a large gate and climbed out of his car to make a phone call.A security guard pushed his head out of a small building to the left of the gate to say something that Damian couldn’t hear, and after a few minutes the older boy entered the small building and disappeared, presumably into one of the long brown brick buildings behind the gate.

The wait this time was the longest, Damian related, so long that he wanted to take a nap or play a game, and when the subject emerged he was accompanied by another person of interest, a man with thin brown hair and a prominent nose.Between them, they were carrying four medium-sized cartons.

The two of them, talking and laughing, stepped beyond the gates and walked to Eivar's car.It was fortunate that he had chosen to park next to a thick, evenly-trimmed hedge that bordered the gates to the office area.This was something that no self-respecting spy or assassin would ever do, said Damian, and corporations were stupid to install these structures in the first place if they intended to harbor criminally-inclined employees.

“I really did put some Scientists in Business T-shirts in there,” said the man.“As well as a few other things. You can keep them all for your school careers fair if you want.”

“I only need the products that you synthesized.Vanilla is the pink, correct? The vampire is light grey.”

“These are samples.I can color them how the hell you want.”

He heard the sound of the car door being opened, and of something being moved around inside the vehicle.Then he heard Eivar's voice again.

“Wait. There is a box with venom still?”

The brown-haired man sighed.

“I told you.This is pilot production.If you can’t get the other ingredients through in the right ratios, I can’t use all the venom.Your friends at the docks need to try a bit harder.”

Jason’s eyes were hard and shining. 

“Did you get all that?”

Damian nodded.“I think so, yes.”

The car’s fifth and final stop was brief but significant.

The Enclave, whose official name was Las Lomas, was a large piece of land that had been bought from the City of Gotham by the Camachos, a powerful family with interests in Santa Prisca banking and tourism.Most of the Enclave was now physically separated from the rest of Gotham by a barbed wire perimeter, and the GCPD needed special permits to enter.Within, it was much like any other gated luxury development, featuring sprawling houses, a leisure center and even a few licensed shops.What set it apart from other such developments was its special jurisdiction status, watertight security and persistent rumors that it harbored one of Bane’s safe houses.

“So you couldn’t get much.”

Damian shook his head.

“They made him leave his car outside the entrance and checked him over before they let him in.I didn’t get close enough to pick up anything they said.Father thinks Bane may have landmines planted around the area, and I assumed there would be video surveillance too.”

Jason was puzzled.He had expected something else.

“What about your eye?” he asked.

Back in Gotham proper, Damian decided that he was going to break into the burgundy SUV as soon as he realized that Eivar had parked it without taking the cartons into the house with him. The tall boy had stood on the lawn of his house, slowly finishing another cigarette. It dangled between two of his fingers, the small silver tin held in his other hand awaiting its turn. Then he walked up the steps to the front door without returning to the garage.

“And that was how they got me,” he said.He grinned.“It wasn’t at the Enclave.Of course, they thought I was just a stupid car thief.”

He pulled several tiny bags out of his pockets and his grin became wider.Some of the bags sparkled like rose-colored glitter and the others looked like they contained ground-up pellets of snot.

“It was worth it,” he said.

"It was," said Jason.

“But I am not clear.What is in that little silver tin of his?”

“It’s probably snus.Where he comes from, it's so strong they don’t let it into this country.”

“What is snus?”

Jason sighed.Damian was still such a kid sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Kids, do not do venom. After a while, it makes you irreversibly impotent. This explains so much about Bane. 
> 
> 2) I didn’t invent the simultaneous use of cigarettes and snus. I have actually seen this.


	6. Nightlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson dips a toe into Bludhaven's real estate and nighttime scenes.

Richard sat in the small, scruffy park, looking through his phone.A few pigeons congregated near the bench.There somehow seemed to be more of them here than in Gotham City.

Bludhaven was only thirty minutes’ drive away from Gotham, but the difference in rent between the two cities was vast.He clicked on another apartment for potential viewing.It was way too early to commit to anything, but he wanted to see some places over the weekend and get a feel for a few different neighborhoods that he was considering.

After that, he was planning to do something that he had never done before.He was going to sit at a very specific bar on fifteenth and Janin after nine o’clock in the evening, a bar that he had made a note of some time ago, and he would do nothing in particular there, except to see what it felt like inside and maybe talk to some people.Whatever he’d said to Barbara Gordon, it wasn’t the kind of bar that he would ever go to in Gotham. There were too many prying eyes there to connect him with Bruce and tip off the tabloids.And after that, after midnight he was thinking, he would move into the air to take stock of his surroundings.

In some ways, Bludhaven was a microcosm of Gotham City.In other ways, it was completely different.One of the things that Richard liked about it was its size.Its center, where he was now situated, was at once greener, messier and more compact than Gotham’s, easier to survey at night from the vantage point of a grappling hook or the protective shadow of a tall spire.He let his head fall back on his shoulders, looking up at the sky and thinking.

Bludhaven’s waterfront economy was disappearing thanks to the deep-water port that Gotham had completed less than ten years ago, but the Spine, the main strip of the city’s red light district, continued to thrive.What Batman had driven out of Gotham had come to play here, making it difficult if not impossible for new industries to get off the ground and pick up the slack that competition had left.The city was turning into its neighbor’s small, smelly outhouse, and the longer it went on the worse the smell would become.

In the end, it was well after ten o’clock by the time Richard reached the bar.Tabu was a large, black-fronted slab on a corner just off the Strip that was within easy walking distance of the few good hotels that remained in Bludhaven.There were a few women in the bar, but for several years it had attracted a clientele of men mainly in their very early twenties to mid-thirties. 

So far, he was more curious than nervous.There was no difference that he could see, he decided, between this place and any other bar he had been to in Gotham City except that the bartenders were male, two of them were practically shirtless, and all had almost certainly been hired for their looks.It wasn’t anything near full yet, much bigger inside than he had expected it to be, and in much better condition.A row of tiny rainbow flags hung from the ceiling down the center of the room, and the long bar was lit up from above by a huge, twisted chandelier. He was not intending to visit the famous dark rooms, located the floor below.

A couple sat next to him at the bar, ignoring him, one of them in a checked shirt, the other one laughing and shaking his head.The bartender, a tall Asian boy with arms like reeds and pink-streaked hair, passed him another non-alcoholic drink.

“It’s on the house,” he said.He gave Richard a mischievous, appraising look, and Richard noticed that he was wearing stockings and a garter belt under his cut-off denim shorts.They suited him. 

“I'm guessing Gotham,” the bartender said.

“I’m not from Gotham,” said Richard, quite accurately.He smiled.“But no-one over the age of two ever shakes the accent.”

“And I can hear it.What brings you to Blud?”

“Traveling with a client for a couple of days.I’m a personal trainer.”

“Do I _know_ them?”

Richard held one hand out coyly.“I’m not allowed to talk about those things.”

He was an accomplished liar when he needed to be, but hated the fact that here, of all places, he had slipped into it without thinking.He knew why it had happened, and cursed himself internally.

“Ooo. Ce-le-bri-ties,” said the bartender.He twirled off to serve his next customer, leaving Richard wondering how normal people behaved when they tried to come out.

In a moment, or what seemed like a moment, the bartender was back.He opened his eyes very wide, exactly like a girl.He couldn’t be hitting on me, thought Richard.This is impossible.

“I have a little welcome present for you,” said the bartender. “Something fun called vampire.Maybe your client will like it too.”He raised a clipped black eyebrow. 

Two small twists of paper sat on the surface of the bar just in front of Richard’s finger tips.They looked like tiny, upmarket candies, and he curved a hand around them, protecting them from sight.

“Vampire?”

The bartender bent forward, confiding.

“A-mazing.It’s so new that you can hardly find it anywhere yet, and it’s going to explode.”He winked. “But I’ve never done it myself, of course. Uh-uh.”He shook his hips, and turned to make another drink.

Richard sighed inwardly.He had barely arrived in Bludhaven, and work had already found him.He slipped the little twists of paper into a pocket of his jeans.

“Why vampire?” he asked when the bartender returned.

“Turns your tears temporarily red.Or so I hear.”He winked again.“Back in a minute.”

He blew a little kiss at Richard and moved on.Pretty, Richard thought, but not my style.I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want.

The bar was getting busier, and the volume of voices had begun to compete with the music. Across the room on the edge of the blue-lit dance floor, Richard could see a man with one of his hands down another one’s jeans, the other hand supporting his partner’s back. The seat next to him was now occupied by a big man who was slightly older than most of the others in the room.Slade, Richard found himself thinking, and he tensed involuntarily.One of his shoulders twitched as he recalled a world of pain.

“Easy,” said the man.He turned around fully and grinned, and Richard saw that he was brown-haired, clean-shaven and very good-looking.“I’m not going to snap you in half.”

“Snap judgement,” Richard said.“For a moment, I thought you were an old friend. The kind of guy who enjoys throwing people out of helicopters and breaking their metatarsals one by one.”

“I could be a new friend, but I’m not sure I’m up to those standards.”

“Luke Trent,” someone shouted enthusiastically, and the big man was borne away on a tide of blonde hair and white T-shirts.

One of the couple tapped him on the shoulder.

“You know why no-one is talking to you,” the older one said in a stage whisper. He put a hand on Richard’s thigh and squeezed.“Kim - the bartender’s - a real bitch if he likes someone.You might want to move, kid.”

“Kimmy could be a good thing,” said the other.He grinned.“It’ll stop you jumping him.”

For the second time in two weeks, Richard felt himself blush deeply.Then he had a good idea.

About two hours later, a personal trainer called Jason Richards who looked exactly like Richard Grayson stepped out of one of Tabu's rear exit doors.Jason had a migraine starting up, had already vomited, and was now feeling too sick to go downstairs with Kimmy, but Richard’s head was as clear as ice.He had learned a number of interesting facts about a new club drug called vampire, and confirmed that the links between Gotham and Bludhaven were more complex than expected.It made sense, of course, that this city with its laxer policing and sprawling nightlife scene would make a good test ground before any product made the leap into larger nearby markets.

He walked a couple of blocks and then leaned against a wall to think. That was when he felt the push.Instead of looking who had pushed him, he tried to save himself from falling,stiffening an arm. Another push caught him from the other side, and a foot came up to kick him in the face.So there are two of them, he thought before he vaulted up and outwards.It isn’t Gotham, Richard, he told himself.But it isn’t a vacation either.Stupid to have let your guard down.And then he landed on his feet and smiled into the first one’s face, slamming a left fist into his kidneys.

About ten minutes later, they were surrounded by two police cars and pulsing lights.

“Thanks,” said Richard.He would still have time for his aerial tour of the city, he reckoned.It was relatively early for a Saturday night on which a lot was bound to happen at this rate.

“You didn’t need my help,” said the big man from the bar.He had turned out to resemble Slade superficially in more ways than one. 

“But I appreciated it.”

They stood back and watched the cops wrap up.The man moved closer to him, much closer, and touched his thigh, and it didn’t make Richard uncomfortable at all.

“Come back with me?” the man asked.“I’m staying nearby.”

“Thanks so much,” Richard said.“I wasn’t planning on doing much tonight after this.”

He smiled back at the man, hoping that his guileless blue eyes gave away neither the second big lie of the evening nor the fact that part of him would have liked to give a different answer.

The man gave Richard a strange, lingering look that didn’t stop at the waist.

“No problem,” he said.“And I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.I travel a lot for work.My name’s Luke.”

He passed Richard a card.It said ‘Luke Trent’, and showed a number and an email address.There was also a logo and the name of a business, Midnight Security Solutions.

“If your plans change,” he said.He shrugged.“I’m not on Grindr or any of those things.”

Richard took the card and gave Luke another, very pretty smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had Robin go to Bludhaven to be drooled over in a bar, beat himself up over his own internalized homophobia, and then get hit on by Midnighter. WTF? (Select from the following answers: a) It wrote itself, and I just logged on and saw it there. b) I was possessed by evil spirits when I wrote it. c) I am a bad person. d) All of the above.)


	7. Venom in the System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New drugs are starting to find their way into Gotham's school system, and Jason loses his temper badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter cuts between two perspectives, Jay's and Richard's, so there is only Chapter 7 to read this week. It is a bit longer than usual. I have nothing further to say other than to reiterate previous warnings about venom and its derivatives being very bad for you.

A light shadow fell across them, and Jason looked up to see Anton Sionis.Anton’s face had a strange, dark grayish cast to it but he seemed relaxed.His hands were tucked into his pockets and there was a tiny smile on his lips.

The weather was too cold now to take work outside, so he and Roman were hunkered down in a corner of the school’s long, empty lunch room.The school building was open later than usual.A drama club event was in full, noisy swing in an adjoining room and Roman, Jason had assumed, was staying close to pick up any ad-hoc business.

It was the middle of the week, and the last two days had been eventful.Damian was home again with a bad cold and a strict curfew that included all Super Sons activities. He was still refusing to talk to Richard, who had returned from a house-hunting trip to Bludhaven with an unexpected lead and material that matched almost exactly the samples that had been retrieved from the burgundy-colored SUV with the diplomatic license plates.Beyond a few sharp looks and some clarifying questions, Bruce had given Jason nothing like the lecture he was expecting.Jason was surprised, almost taken aback.

“I talked to him,” said Richard, when he had the chance to pull Jason aside. “I think you should be doing more. I hope he listened.”

Jason nodded.He was grateful to Richard, although it was sometimes hard not to be annoyed by that super-nice, young James Bond thing he had going for him.Richard needed to stop worrying about what everyone else was thinking.He should let go and stop dancing around the job, maybe smash someone's face in occasionally, but he probably never would.He would just go on flirting with them and using Batarangs.

Venom, Bruce had said, was back in circulation now, but in new and more dangerous formats.The dosage of some of this material would have to be adjusted so finely that the risk of slipping into a coma was sky-high.School was a valuable hunting ground for further information, and here came Anton looking for his baby brother.Roman wasn’t smiling, and he was also ignoring the tall, dapper boy who walked a couple of steps behind Anton, dressed in a dark silky cardigan and narrow trousers.

“What’s the matter with you?” Roman asked. “You still look as sick as fuck.”

“There is nothing to worry about,” said Eivar.“It is a side effect sometimes called Black Mask.”He smiled.“It will wear off him, of course.”

“Black Mask,” said Roman.He scowled up at his brother.“I don’t like the idea of pushing this shit, Anton.Not at school.”

“You guys want me to head off?” asked Jason, half-rising from where he sat.He knew that he had far more to gain by playing nice than by hanging around where he wasn’t wanted.

“You stay,” Roman said.He could be stubborn when he wanted to, and Jason sensed that he was in full mutiny against this ally of his brother's.

“Vanilla is fine,” said Roman.“It looks as straightforward as weed.But the other stuff? Shit, I didn’t even know if you were breathing last night, Anton.I say no.”

Eivar sat down in front of Roman and placed his hands palm down in front of him on the scratched white linoleum surface of the lunchroom table.As if he’s being upfront, Jason thought. The older boy shrugged and dipped his head towards the younger one.

“I understand,” he said.“This is a big decision.You must be absolutely comfortable.With the vanilla, I understand.The decision is easy.For vampire, maybe not, but that is where the money is.I can talk to someone else if you decide against it.”

“Of course it’s where the money is Roman, you shit for brains,” said Anton. His voice was relaxed.“We would sell to the upper classes only.If not us, they’ll get it elsewhere. Janus Cosmetics is going under.”He laughed.“I’m not working some shitty minimum wage job after school.”

Eivar gave Roman a charming smile.

“It’s not addictive,” he said.“So it is much better than meth in that way. You could be eliminating something worse.” 

He gave Jason a significant look, and Jason decided not to respond.Then he had one of his ideas.This was going to happen no matter what he did, and he had nothing to lose by making a practical suggestion that showed there were no lingering bad feelings.

“Roman,” he said. “Not my business, but why say yes or no yet? Start with the first one and see how it goes before you commit to the next step. It's so new anyway.”

“Not a bad idea,” said the tall blonde boy.He sounded impressed.

\- - - -

He wasn’t as awful as he had seemed at first, Jason had to admit.He was sad.

They all had fake ids, and drove a way off in the burgundy car with the diplomatic plates to buy beer and go somewhere quiet to drink it.He knew a place over a high bluff overlooking the ocean where you could see the water.There were benches to sit on in a sheltered area, space to park, and no-one ever went there once the weather became colder.

He missed the sea, he said.Where he came from, he said after a few drinks, it was different.Here in Gotham, it was dirty and industrial and fenced off at every part until you drove far away and then it became bad beaches with people who had no idea how to behave in the summer.It wasn’t like the sea he knew at all.Where he lived, you could walk up to it and it was clean and wild and sometimes had bright, long grass at its edges.It even smelled different.Here, it didn’t have a smell, or it smelled like oil and the interior of cargo ships.Jason listened and said nothing.

“What are you doing when you finish school?” he asked Jason.His voice was slow after the beer, but his English was still perfect.He spoke five different languages, he had told Jason, but did not seem proud of that at all.

“Don’t know yet.I’m not too worried.”

“You are lucky.”

“You?”

“Oh, me? All I want to do is paint.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “My father is not so pleased.He plans to cut off my allowance if I do it.”

There was a faraway look in his pale face and suddenly, through the haze of alcohol, Jason wanted to put an arm on his shoulder and tell him that everything would be alright.He stopped the impulse in himself, disgusted.This boy had no problem pushing hard drugs to kids or lying about what they could do.People were weird, and some of them, like this one, deserved to die.

\- - - -

“Something’s changed,” said Richard.“Jason’s settling down.”

They were in the Batcave, reviewing a detailed layout plan of the Gotham Port Authority.The GCPD were in the process of doing the same.

Bruce shook his head.“Excellent work, but he shouldn’t have gone that far on his own.Or dragged Damian into it with him.What could have happened?”

“Baby Bat never needs much dragging.”

“Jay will grab onto something like a pitbull, right or wrong.And he won’t let go.That may be what most worries me about his future with us.”He corrected himself.“With me. That, and the impulsivity.He’s so set on doing what he believes to be the right thing that he doesn’t stop to look at outcomes.”

A clattering noise from a small side staircase that led into the Batcave announced Jason’s arrival.He looked as thought he had just come in from the cold, windy outdoors.

“I did my homework hours ago,” he announced.“Even the fu - damn history essay.”His face was pink, and his ears were very flushed.

“What’s up?” asked Richard, who knew the signs too well.

Jason ignored Richard, fixing his eyes on Bruce.

“I know we talked about it already,” he said.“I get that there’s this diplomatic immunity stuff.But aren’t there any other ways?”

“We need to take out Bane’s supply chain,” said Bruce. “Your friend is just the small fry.”

Jason said violently:“He’s not my friend.”He took a deep breath and continued. “He just doesn’t care.He needs to be in jail.Or dead.I’m telling you, kids are going to die because of what he’s doing.” 

“Whether he should or shouldn’t be dead isn’t for you or me to decide, Jay.This isn’t a state where the death penalty is even an option, assuming he could go to trial.Which he won’t, because of his status.”

“He could have an accident.” Jason’s voice was hot.“His father’s house could burn down.His car could blow up.You know people who do that kind of thing.”

Jason’s eyes were blazing and Richard put a hand on each of his arms.

“Slow down there, Jay, alright? Breathe deep.”

“No,” said Jason.He twisted away from Richard.

“This is wrong,” he said.He had raised his voice.“It’s totally fucked up.We can’t take out Bane, because no-one ever seems to be able to take him out, and the drugs will just re-route.And this kid, or someone else just like him, will go on laughing all the way to the bank.  So why can’t we do something to him?Why can’t we scare the crap out of people like him so they won’t ever fucking dream of using their status to copy what he’s doing?”

Bruce sat down in front of the main Bat computer and settled his hands on his thighs.He looked back at Jason with an unreadable expression on his face.

“These are questions that keep me up at night, Jay,” he said.“I can’t sleep sometimes thinking about them.Would one death stop a thousand others? Does that justify the act of murder? So far, my answer is no.My father spent his life fighting to preserve the life of others, no matter who they were.I don’t believe that life and death should be in the hands of any human being.We don’t want to be like them.”

Jason muttered something unintelligible, and Richard’s eyes went to Bruce, who ran his big fingers through his hair.

“You won’t like to hear this, Jay, but there are practical considerations too. If Batman is linked with any kind of diplomatic incident, we’ll never be allowed to fight again in Gotham. Right now, his country is one of the only viable alternatives to the Middle East when it comes to oil and natural gas reserves.We have to pick our battles, and this isn’t one that we could ever win.”

“Then pick your battles,” said Jay.His voice if anything was hotter.“This is a good one.Pick him off and nuke him.”

“It’s not that simple, Jay.”

“It’s very simple,” Jason said.“Someone kills him, and it hits every fucking headline out there.And everyone with any kind of diplomatic immunity round the world shits themselves and thinks twice before helping run Bane’s errands next time.”

He looked at them, first at Richard, then at Bruce.“Sometimes, I just don’t fucking believe you.Neither of you.”

\- - - -

Why did everything feel so out of joint?He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, and it still felt like he had stumbled.Damian’s fury was funnier than it should have been, but Bruce’s distance, although friendly, was more difficult to handle.

Richard's effective resignation had left his mentor with a staffing issue. But there was more to it than that, he knew.It was the same sense of betrayal that made Damian put his nose in the air at breakfast or ignore a request to adjust the volume of a video game. There was nobody to talk to about any of this now that Barbara had declared herself out of bounds.Again, he knew that there was nothing he had done wrong, but her mixed messages had left him hurt and confused.If she really didn’t want to see him, he would limit contact to her Oracle persona, but that was much easier said than done, and he missed her terribly.

The problem with me, he thought, is that everyone thinks I’m open, but I’m not.I just smile and behave as though I am.And I’m not going to get any sleep tonight at this rate, so I may as well go downstairs and watch a stupid movie.

Wayne Manor had its own small theatre that was sometimes used for private screenings.At other times, Alfred organized extended family movie nights or left it open for anybody’s use.It was always warm inside, and there was something comforting about its deep red curtains and lingering smell of popcorn and leather conditioner.

Richard headed down a couple of flights of stairs and across a small hallway through a set of padded double doors to find that the same idea had occurred to someone else.A morose Jason sat in a back row of the small theatre with all the lights on.

“I went too far with Bruce before, didn’t I,” he said.It was a statement rather than a question.

Richard was happier to see him there than he wanted to admit.

“Maybe,” he said.He took one of the seats next to Jason and put his feet up on the row of chairs in front of them.

“Why do I get so angry?”Jason hit one of the soft black seats next to him and shook his head.He didn’t seem too angry now, Richard thought.Remorseful, maybe, and irritated with himself.

“What do you you think, Jay?”

“Cut that out, you sound like my therapist.I think Bruce gets it wrong sometimes.Don’t you ever think that way?”

Richard considered the question.It was a good one, and it had occupied his mind, albeit in a somewhat different form, for many months to date.

“I don’t,” he said. “I sometimes wish I did.It would make it easier to disappoint him.”

Jason laughed at that.“You’re not the one who’s always breaking rules.”

“How about apologizing to him?”

Jason grunted.“Could do.”

“Show that you’re mature and all of that.It would go a long way.”

“I’ll start with you.I was an asshole.Sorry.”

“You were a bit.”

Jason grinned.

“Grayson, one of these days I’m going to get you to yell at me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave in to temptation, reread some of what I had previously posted for this piece and cheated by cutting some of the most horrible of the horribleness. Dam’ do I make myself cringe. Could I just get better? Now? Please?


	8. What Goes Down in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason rises to the challenge as Richard almost loses his life, and two boys die in the night.
> 
> Also, I have flu and I have no idea what I am posting.

“Be quiet,” said Jason into Roman’s ear.“There’s nothing we can do.He won’t be on his own.”

There was almost no light where they had crawled, but they could see a figure stumble. One arm came out, a useless reflex, to shield his lower body, and then he fell.

“I don’t know what you mean.” It was Anton’s voice, confused, and it was fading.

“And I don’t know what you said, my friend.It is no difference really.”

“I didn’t say anything to the Falcones.”

They were underneath part of the hedge that bordered the Orbital Pharmaceuticals campus and they were freezing, not that they could do anything about it.This must be the campus Damian had referred to, Jason thought.He and Roman had found themselves out here after he had helped Roman start up someone else’s car with a screwdriver to track his older brother out to the suburbs.Something was going wrong, Roman said, and it was serious.

Jason heard a laugh.They could see the white-blonde hair clearly now.He was pacing back and forth, the small round silver tin in one hand, wearing dark gloves made of some kind of shiny material.The breath in front of him was almost as pale as his hair.

“Somebody is talking, Anton, not just to the Falcones, and my father too has interesting questions for me.I have no time to find out more now.But it gets worse, you see.”

The silver head moved back and forth in admonishment, like a disappointed teacher.

It can take a long time to die from a knife to the body, thought Jason.Even if someone knows what they’re doing, especially if someone knows what they're doing, and he’s probably been told exactly what to do.

“You are a real user now,” said Eivar. “And that will never do.You are not smart or strong enough to sell and use. You are no Bane, my little friend.”

“You motherfucker,” the reedy voice came from the darkness.It looked like he was on his knees now, or close enough.“Give me something.Something I can take to help me out here.”

Dark-covered shoulders shrugged in the dark.

“I guess I can do that,” he said.There was another, more rueful laugh.“This was requested of me.In a way, I am sorry.”

There was a small, wet sound of Anton spitting blood, and Roman gagged.Jason threw an arm around him, and put a hand over his mouth.

After that, it finished quickly.Two figures emerged from nowhere, and there was a shuffling sound as they took away the body. The grass was bent where it had been, but tipped with frost like hardened sugar.

The boys waited over an hour to ensure that no one else was there before they left.As it was, they were lucky that no-one had picked them up on the way in.Damian was right about those hedges with their protective depths and long, blind corners.

Jason drove while Roman sat in silence all the way back into Gotham.He’s puked up all his words, thought Jason.For now, he has none left.

\----

Did Jason save his life? Who knows.Most likely yes.

I’d have liked to talk to Babs again, he thought as the impact from the blow that lofted him into the container extinguished his night vision from inside the cowl, plunging the interior into total darkness.

There was so much I could have said to her and didn’t, and now maybe I never will. 

And then he had to focus.

“It’s back-up only,” Bruce had said. “Don’t engage unless it’s necessary.”

He had looked at Jason.

“Patience,” he had said.“Sometimes, waiting is the most important part of the takedown.”

Three ships were expected into Gotham City waters that evening, all via the port of Santa Prisca de Las Colinas, and the evidence inside them together with shipping manifests and other documents could be enough to take down some major players, including Charlie Camacho and the head of the Marine Longshore and Warehouse Union.It was a start, said Bruce, although there was no telling yet how deeply Bane had penetrated the East Coast’s maritime supply chain.

Gordon had put the recently-promoted Renee Montoya in charge of his dockside operation.Richard liked the tall Dominican officer and her hard-bitten ways.She had clawed her way to the top, and she richly deserved to be there.Her girlfriend, she had once told Richard with a grin, was in another branch of the forces, Forensics.

The harbor pilots had delivered, steering all three ships into their allotted berths.The idea, Gordon said, was to execute as quietly as possible, picking off the target containers during what would appear to be a normal unloading operation, ring fencing the crew and and monitoring all involved offshore personnel to inhibit communication between them and the outside.ComTel would be taking down specific cellular connections in the area from ten p.m. until further notice.

It was a beautiful, frigid night.The stars were tiny bullet holes in a vast, clear sky and Gotham Harbor was a giant basin full of water that tilted to catch the lights from the shore.I’m probably at the worst and most distracted that I’ve ever been,Richard thought.I wonder why he sent me out like this.

He looked down from from their elevated observation point between two stacks of containers at the yard below.Everything seemed to be proceeding according to Gordon’s plan, with the police cordon moving into place to section off several trucks and isolate the area around the berths.Yellow light from overhead flooded the area, making it easy to pick out different faces against the towering gantry cranes.A row of silver-grey containers stamped with the white Wayne Industries branding sat just beyond the cordon.

Behind him, tense with energy, his Robin shifted from one foot to the other, also scanning the scene below.He had dyed his hair black again at Bruce’s suggestion.

Richard could see Renee Montoya until suddenly he couldn’t.

“Batman, we have a hostage situation.“Her voice was urgent, and then could see her again, moving, almost running, far below.“They have Lassiter at gunpoint with some materials that probably include venom, and they’re asking for a speedboat.”

A few feet away, he heard Jason’s sharp intake of breath.

\----

He’s so good, thought Jason.Like he’s not a human being, and that cape is part of his body.It’s as if he’s walking along the floor of his bedroom instead of a few inches from the edge of a seventy-foot drop.He could throw a handspring or a triple flip and land here with his eyes shut.I won’t be a Robin like him, but I don’t want to be.I’ll hit much harder and I’ll break some rules.I'll bring other things, and people will remember me.This city will remember Jason Todd.

A silent snap of Richard’s fingers made him turn his head fully.

“Pathetic dweeb,” muttered Jason, shifting closer.“Some second-in-command, that Lassiter.”

“We’re on it, Montoya,” he heard Richard say as he began to move around the edge of the containers, a shadow melting into taller shadows.“No solo heroics, Robin.Two to four is doable, but tight.”

“They’ve got their backs to one of those remote-controlled containers,” Jason said. “The Wayne Industries test units there.I don’t like it.Anyone could come out of those things.”

Richard surveyed the small, gesticulating group below them.They were near enough now to hear the gentle slap of the water against the wharf.A flying chokehold should take care of the one who had Lassiter, and he could kick the big one’s knees out at the same time.

He cleared his mind again, readying the lines in his hand in preparation for the lightning downswing.

Later, Jason told him exactly what had happened after Lassiter had been released.

\----

I’m still alive, he thought.He dropped the bearded man between two large crates and breathed in.

I wonder what Bruce would do if he found himself locked into a dark space with an unknown number of armed opponents.I wonder what Babs is doing right now.It’s a good thing I can move so quietly.

There was a tiny crackle in his left ear. Something inside the complex headpiece was still intact although the right side must be in ruins.

“Batman, do you read me?”

“Robin. Over.”

He mouthed the words, hoping the internal mapping and translation software was still working.

“Batman, I need to crash you out of there,” came Jason’s voice.“Fucker threw the control unit into the Atlantic, and there’s no time to cut the lock now.”

“Crash this party any way you like.”

He knew his lightness annoyed Jason at times, but it was good just now.

“I can hear you.Get as far to the back as you can, and keep behind any crates there.”

And then a truck came smashing through the side of the remote-controlled container.

Hours after, when they were back inside the Batcave, Jason noticed something surprising.It wasn’t the terrible bruising on the right side of Richard’s face.

“You look better than you’ve looked for days,” he said.

Richard sighed. “I had to pistol-whip one of those men inside the container,” he said.“I held his neck and smashed his face in.It was much too dark for Batarangs.”

He looked back at Jason and smiled. “Remind me to tell Bruce it wasn’t you this time.”

“I can see it did you good,” said Jason.

\----

They had made their preparations together, weeks in advance.In the end, it was easy because although he trusted no-one, he trusted them perhaps more than any other people in his strange, circumscribed world.They struck on one of their beer jaunts, months after Anton’s death.Roman was the one who had insisted on waiting so long, and he also insisted on doing the talking.It was as though with Anton’s death he had taken on his brother’s thoughtfulness and grown further with it.There was a new coldness and reserve to him that included even Jason.

“You have a choice,” he explained to Eivar.The older boy was tied to the steering wheel of his car with several lengths of cord.Jason had nothing on Richard Grayson when it came to rope art, but he had learned a thing or two by watching him.

“Unfortunately, we can only kill you once, motherfucker,” Roman said. “So what’s it going to be first?The knife or the pills?”

There was a small smile on the boy’s face, as if he had a secret.He doesn’t really care that he’s about to die, thought Jason with a shock. 

“The chemicals,” he said.He shook his head.“Always the chemicals.”

“Your choice,” said Roman, and he tipped the boy’s head back with one gloved hand.

It wasn’t much fun to watch.Jason had seen deaths firsthand before, but this was only Roman’s second, he thought.The sooner it was done, the better.His worries were misplaced.

“It won’t be long,” he said to Roman as the spittle began to appear in the corner of the fine, almost girlish lips.

“I don’t care how long it takes.Now show me where to use the knife.”

As the black mask effect started to take place, Jason looked at his watch.

“About two more minutes now.Then we’ll let him go.”

A long sigh came from the body in the driver’s seat, and that was all.His head dipped further into his chest, and a tiny string of blood slid out of one of his ears.Fucker still wouldn’t wear a hat, thought Jason.Despite the cold and all.

Roman opened the passenger door and hopped out, looking all around him.Jason, peering from the rear seat, saw that the night around them was as empty as before, vast and windy where they were at the top of the bluff.

Roman walked to the rear of the car and gave it a push.It shook, but hardly moved forward.

“Jay, give me a hand here.”

Together, they moved the car with its contents, against the wind and towards the restive sea.


	9. I Was Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was Richard right?

The late news was interrupted by a bulletin from Gotham City with very few details and several sharp images.The announcer was delirious with excitement.Richard smiled, for the first time in two days, and picked up his phone.He was making real headway with this Blockbuster case, but independence sometimes felt like another word for loneliness.

He had deleted Barbara’s number over three months ago, because it was too difficult to see it there.The bulletin was a bright spot, a reminder that fundamental goodness could win through and that there was a place for every kind of it in the world.

He hit Bruce’s number, and typed:

_I see Jason brought in Scarecrow by himself._

The reply came back almost immediately.

_Brave fool. Overachiever._

Full of joy, he typed back:

_I was right about Jay.I worried maybe I wasn’t.Are you proud of him?_

There was nothing for a few minutes.He’s busy, Richard thought. So many different lives, so many demands on him.And he has to rise to all of them, and he somehow does it.That’s why I’m here, after all.It was too much for me or anyone else who wasn’t him.

He leaned over to take the remote control back into his hand, and turned off the small television in the wall. Then the reply from Bruce came.

_I wonder if you were right, Richard.I still wonder._


End file.
